A Brief Encounter Kind Of Love
by r4ven3
Summary: "You know, it wouldn't surprise me if it was all quite chaste, in a frightfully out-dated, Brief Encounter kind of " Ruth contemplates Mani's assessment of hers and Harry's connection, and whether it is still enough for A 2-shot, set late in T-rated at
1. Chapter 1

Ruth opens Harry's office door without knocking, slips inside, and slides the door closed behind her, being careful to close it quietly.

He's sitting in his chair, his head leaning back against the headrest, his face turned towards her, eyes closed, hands on his thighs, and she can hear his light snores as he breathes in. She stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of him, asleep and so vulnerable. She prays that there'll be no red flash tonight. He'd looked wiped out last night, and she suspects he spent all night on the Grid. At this morning's briefing he'd seemed distracted and out of sorts.

Ruth walks towards him, taking care to be quiet. Reaching his side, she touches his arm. Nothing, not even a stirring. She touches his hand, lightly stroking the back of one hand with her fingertips. Still nothing. She watches his chest rising and falling, slowly and steadily. She thinks of Big Ben, measuring the passage of time for a century and a half; Harry is a bit like a clock which never stops. Until now.

She glances through the window to the Grid to see that everyone else has gone home. There is only she and Harry left, and she can't leave him here like this. He should get home to bed …... to his bed. Were she a different kind of person – a confident risk-taker – she'd be this minute planning to take him home to her own bed. She's not confident, and she's not a risk-taker, so she lifts her hand to his face, and with the backs of her fingers, she touches his cheek. That is about as risky as she'll get.

Harry takes in a sudden breath, and opens his eyes. "Ruth," he says, his eyes widening, "I was just dreaming …..."

"What were you dreaming about, Harry?"

She catches a look – furtive, secretive – and it's clear to Ruth what – or who – he was dreaming about. But dreaming isn't living, is it? Harry doesn't handle `them' terribly well. She doesn't handle `them' well either, so what does that make them? Hopeless, that's what. They are hopeless, and unless they are trapped alone for a couple of days in a locked room with no computers, and no phones or electricity, it's unlikely they'll transcend their current state of hopelessness. Even then, they may need more than two days.

"It was …... it was a nice dream."

That's all he's giving her, but she can fill in the blanks. Harry dreams about her ... she dreams about him. That is the extent of their `relationship'. It is the kind of relationship you have when you don't have a relationship in the real world. It is a virtual relationship, a relationship of the mind, a relationship which occurs in dreams, and as such, it can be rather wonderful.

Not in the real world, though. In the real world – the place where they have to interact, and talk to one another – their relationship is frustrating beyond all imagining.

"Let's get you home," she says, placing her hand on his arm.

He offers no opposition. He yawns, then stands, looks around for his keys and his phone, while Ruth takes his coat from the hook, and hands it to him. He smiles at her, his cheeks still flushed from sleep, slipping on his coat. Ruth has often wondered what he'd be like when he wakes up. He's soft, sweet, and a little absent minded.

"I'm driving," she says, when he goes to open the driver's side door of his car. "You're in no fit state."

Harry hands her the key with no argument, and heads around to the passenger side.

* * *

Ruth has been close enough to him to know he hasn't had a drink. He is not affected by alcohol. He is suffering from being bone tired …... out on his feet …... exhausted. She knows as soon as he opens his front door, and struggles to remember the security code, that she is going to have to see him into bed. She views that prospect with equal parts joy and horror.

"Do you need to eat first, Harry?"

He is already about to put his foot on the bottom stair when he turns to look at her, his face showing confusion.

"Eat?"

"You know …... food."

He shakes his head, and again attempts the stairs. She hurries to his side, and taking his elbow, she helps him climb the stairs, and then to his room.

Were she to have formed a mental plan of her role this night, she would have had Harry climbing the stairs to bed, leaving her free to leave the house, and then find her own way home – perhaps by bus. She is already past the limits of her own plan, and she hopes that she will very soon have a clear idea of when she can leave Harry to get himself into bed so that she can go home. She and Harry may be quite close, but they are hardly at the let's-share-a-bed-because-it-might-be-nice stage in their relationship.

Inside his room (a sensible room, one where he sleeps, but appears to not spend a lot of time) Harry sits on the edge of the mattress, and struggles to untie his shoes. Ruth feels sorry for him (even though she knows that by this time, she should be half way to the nearest bus stop), and kneels beside him, so that she can remove his shoes, and then his socks. Once that job is done, she looks up at him, and sees him gazing at her with barely disguised wonder and adoration.

"You'll help me with the rest of it?" His voice is quiet, his eyes on her, his look at once careful and seductive.

"I'll help you with your shirt and tie, but as for the rest of it, you're on your own."

He'd already slipped out of his jacket, leaving it on the floor beside the bed. Ruth picks it up, and finding an empty hanger in the wardrobe, she hangs the jacket, smoothing it unnecessarily, so that Harry's unique scent wafts from it. She closes her eyes with pleasure, for a moment imagining them to be doing this as part of their nightly pre-bedtime ritual.

She turns towards the bed to see Harry struggling with his shirt buttons. He's just too tired to manage. Reluctantly, she stands close to him, between his knees, and slowly opens the buttons on his shirt. His tie is on the floor at her feet, and she makes a mental note to pick it up and hang it somewhere …... once he's safely tucked up in bed. She can feel him watching her, but she can't return his scrutiny. This situation has already gone too far for her …... and she can feel her resolve wavering.

She opens the last button – uncomfortably over his groin area – and slides the shirt from his shoulders. She is at once relieved and disappointed that he wears an undershirt, which he'll no doubt wear to bed, and so she'll not have to be tempted by his skin. She longs to see the skin of his chest and shoulders, but she knows she shouldn't. Such a revelation will change their non-relationship forever. She notices that Harry has already opened the buttons on his trousers, and all it requires now is for him to lower the zip. Surely he can manage that. She takes his shirt, and reaches down to pick up his socks and his tie, and places them on a chair under the window.

"I'll go now," she says, turning to look at him. She'd not looked into his eyes the whole time she'd been removing his shirt. She now sees sadness and fatigue and longing in his eyes.

_Please don't_, she thinks.

"Please stay," he whispers.

Ruth looks away. She notices that she hadn't closed the wardrobe door, and so she heads towards the wardrobe, when Harry speaks again.

"Just for tonight, Ruth. Please stay with me." He sounds lucid, not tired.

Ruth turns, her hand on the wardrobe door.

"Leave it," he says. "Stay with me …... at least, until I fall asleep."

Ruth sighs, knowing she hasn't the energy to oppose him. "Alright, but I'll lie on top of the duvet."

"Under it. Beside me. In bed with me."

She turns to stare at him. He must be tired – and disoriented – to have suggested that. Surprisingly, he appears calm, and in charge of his thoughts. His eyes are bright, not with mischief, but with something else …... anticipation, muted joy. She can't say no. She can't disappoint him. She's already hurt him enough.

"Alright," she says, and then turns to close the wardrobe door.

"My trousers," he says quietly. "They'll need hanging up."

Ruth can't watch him removing his trousers. She wants to, but it wouldn't be right. She concentrates on removing her boots and tights. She considers the wisdom of lying in bed in her dress, but she has little alternative.

"The second drawer on the left has some t-shirts of mine, if you need something to wear to bed."

She looks up at Harry, to see his trousers on the bed beside him, while he is crawling under the covers, wearing only his undershirt, and his trunks. She catches a glimpse of a strong thigh, and feels a tipping and turning inside her lower abdomen.

Ruth keeps her eyes down as she takes his trousers from the bed and hangs them in the wardrobe, and then opens the drawer Harry had indicated, and chooses a pale blue t-shirt, and takes it to the bathroom where she'll change and get ready for bed.

So much for her resolve. So much for self-restraint. So much for catching a bus home. So much for keeping Harry at arm's length.

But she doesn't want to, does she? She doesn't want to keep him at arm's length any more than she wants to cut off her own arm.

It is then that she admits to herself that one of the things she most looks forward to each morning is seeing Harry. It is not the only reason she enjoys going to work, but it is one of them. Perhaps the main one. Definitely the main one …... and it has been for some time. Perhaps for as long as since a couple of months after George's death. And _that_ makes her feel bad.

But then …... she is thinking hard while taking a pee before joining Harry in bed …... how long should she avoid Harry, reject him, ignore him? And will avoiding him somehow validate George's horrific death? She knows that she is denying Harry and herself out of guilt – _her_ guilt, _her_ remorse, _her_ self-hatred. And how much self-denial will it take to redeem George's death? One thing she now knows is that denying she and Harry will never bring George back.

By the time she has flushed the toilet and washed her hands and face, she knows what she must do.

Returning to the bedroom, Ruth slides under the duvet, hoping she won't wake Harry. Almost without thinking, she seeks his feet with her own. She craves physical contact with him. She always has. Who wouldn't? It's just that she'd been afraid he'd think she was just after him for sex, and that's never been her primary motivation.

Suddenly she feels Harry's feet entangle with hers, and his arms reach out for her under the duvet.

"Come here," he says sleepily, his arms encircling her and pulling her close to him.

Tentatively, Ruth reaches out with her own arms, and slides one around his waist, and she rests the other against his chest. His body feels warm and safe. She breathes out heavily as she lets her head come to rest under Harry's chin, and she relaxes against him. She feels his heart's steady beat against her chest, as his breathing becomes deeper and slower.

"I love you," he breathes, the last words he speaks before sleep takes him.

Ruth takes a long while to fall asleep. If the situation itself is not extreme enough, Harry's last words before he fell sleep have left her with tumbling, confused thoughts. She doesn't know why it is Harry's late night confession of love should disturb her so. She knows he loves her. He has loved her for at least three years, maybe even four. And, if she's being honest, she also loves him. But she and Harry don't do `I love you's'. They don't do cuddling and open adoration and sex, and the reason they don't is because this is what they have always done. They have always done love-from-afar. To do it any other way would interfere with their ability to work together …... wouldn't it? When Mani had accused them of their relationship being `frightfully out-dated, Brief Encounter', he'd been right on the money. She and Harry do share an old-fashioned kind of love, a chaste, out-dated, Brief Encounter kind of love. And isn't that exactly what they both want?

Ruth lies against Harry's chest, and if she thinks about it, she can feel his chest moving as he breathes deeply in sleep. She can feel his chin move occasionally, as he moves his head in sleep. She can feel his feet entangled with hers, his warm feet wrapped around her cold feet, now slowly warming. She can feel his belly resting against her stomach, his rounded, middle-aged belly pressing against her, and she feels safer because of it. As Harry has slowly repositioned himself in sleep, she can now feel his genitals against her thigh. He is soft and warm there, through the fabric of his trunks. She is reassured by that. They feel safe enough together to press their bodies close, their most private parts resting against the body of the other. She feels herself inch closer to him, as she presses her own private area closer against his belly.

This is safety. This is trust. This is where she belongs – right here, right now. This is love.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: I'm bumping up the rating to accommodate this chapter. Thanks for the reviews and comments, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well._**

* * *

Ruth wakes to an empty bed. It is morning, the sun's rays attempting to penetrate the bedroom curtains, sending a thin ray of light weaving jaggedly across the bedclothes. She knows where she is. Her first sensation on waking is Harry's scent on the sheets. She rolls on to her back, pulls the duvet up until it is under her nose, closes her eyes, and breathes him in. She remembers what she was thinking as she relaxed into sleep the night before, and she smiles to herself.

Suddenly, needing to visit the bathroom, she tumbles out of bed, and walks through to the en suite. She has only just climbed back into bed, and is resting her face against Harry's pillow, eyes closed, drinking in his scent, when she hears his voice, molasses mellow.

"You've slept well, I see."

Ruth opens her eyes to see Harry standing beside the bed. He is wearing a royal blue bathrobe, left hanging open to reveal his white undershirt and black trunks in which he slept. In his hands he carries a tray, strategically held in front of a part of him about which she is suddenly rather curious.

"I thought you might like breakfast in bed. You looked after me last night, so now it's your turn."

Ruth slides up in the bed, self-conscious about wearing one of his t-shirts, and with no bra underneath. She sees him notice this detail, and when their eyes meet above the tray, there is recognition that this morning, their relationship is no longer one which takes place in their dreams. They are both in his bedroom, with she still in his bed, he'd said he loved her, and that means things between them have changed …... perhaps forever.

"I feel like the queen," Ruth says, smiling at him shyly.

Harry places the tray in front of her. "Tea, toast, jam, honey, Marmite. I didn't know what you like on your toast."

"That's ….. just perfect."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Just that you stay here while I eat. I hate eating alone."

"So do I."

Harry's eyes are sad as he looks at her. Neither of them like to eat alone, and nor do they enjoy being alone.

"Sit here," Ruth says, patting the bed beside her, the side where he slept overnight, perhaps the side he sleeps every night. Alone. Like her. "How do you feel this morning?" she asks. It is Sunday, and neither she nor Harry have to be at work.

"Revived. Like a new man. You?"

"I feel …... very happy."

Ruth enjoys her tea, but she only needs one slice of toast, so she gives the other piece to Harry, and he slathers it with Marmite, and then wolfs it down.

"Haven't you had breakfast?" Ruth asks.

"I have. I'm just extra hungry."

Ruth lifts her eyes to look into his. She has heard the hidden meaning in his words, and for once, she is open to that meaning.

They each hold the gaze of the other, their breathing heavy. Very slowly, Harry leans towards her, and kisses her. Ruth notices how soft his lips are, and that when they open their mouths to the other, and she sucks on his tongue, it tastes like Marmite. She smiles as they kiss, and then he pulls away.

"What's so funny?" he asks, watching her closely, still leaning towards her, his weight on one arm.

"You taste like Marmite. It seemed …... funny at the time."

"I love you," he says quietly, watching her, gazing at her, so that she feels her cheeks redden.

"I know, and I …..." She just can't say it, even though she knows she does, and she wants to say it.

"I know you do, Ruth. Here, let me take that."

Harry grasps the tray, with the bones of Ruth's breakfast scattered across it, and places it on the floor. He then removes his robe, drapes it across the end of the bed, and climbs into bed beside Ruth. He slides closer to her, and very slowly, he wraps his arms around her, and pulls her to him. They each lie on their sides, their arms around the other, much as they had the night before when they'd been preparing for sleep. Ruth feels Harry's legs wrap around her own, and very slowly, he presses his whole body against hers. She is aware of how warm he is. She is aware of his heart beating rapidly inside his chest, and his breathing pressing his belly into her own. As he slides closer, so that there is almost no space at all between them, she is aware of his genitals against her upper thigh, and what was soft and warm last night, this morning is hot and growing against her skin, through the thin material of his trunks.

Ruth breathes in with a gasp, and Harry pulls his body away from her.

"Sorry," he says against her forehead. "Too much?"

"No …. of course not. I just hadn't expected ….. you to have …. that …. so soon."

"I spend a considerable part of each day trying _not_ to react to your presence, Ruth."

"Don't misunderstand me, Harry. I want this."

He smiles, and gradually pushes himself close to her again. "Is now alright with you?"

Ruth answers him by wrapping her arms around his neck, and then lifting her leg, and sliding it over his hip. She can feel his erection pressing through two layers of material against the fabric of her underwear, where she is becoming moist and hot. She looks into Harry's eyes and sees his lust and longing for her. She has seen it before, but never when he has been free to act on it. This time Ruth will not run from him. She is not afraid of him, or of herself. She is not afraid of _them_. She wants this.

Harry has been watching her. She knows he is being careful …... careful in case she suddenly changes her mind. He leans towards her and kisses her, tenderly at first, and then harder, and with passion. When they come up for air, he begins to lift her t-shirt from her, at the same time she lifts his shirt.

Two shirts fall to the floor in an untidy embrace, while their owners embrace and kiss again and again. Harry takes his mouth from hers, and gazes longingly at her bare skin, before he sucks and licks and kisses his way down her neck to her throat, and then to her breasts. Meanwhile, his hand has inched down her belly to her knickers, and under the material, she feels his fingers stroking her slowly and gently. He really is very good at this.

Ruth leans back to give him room, her hands caressing his wide shoulders. "I want this, Harry," she murmurs, "more than you can possibly imagine. I have always ….."

"Then, why?" he asks, lifting his head from her breast.

Ruth shakes her head, not even sure she knows why. "Because …... I don't really know now. I can't remember."

Harry removes his hand from inside her underwear, and she goes to press his hand back there. Then she realises that he is removing her knickers, and so she gently pulls down his trunks, revealling what she has felt pressing against her for the previous ten minutes.

"God," she says, and then smiles at him. "You're …..."

"So I've been told," he replies, smiling, and then leaning down to kiss her, again and again.

Afterwards, Ruth would not be able to identify their exact moment of coupling. One minute he is gliding his penis against her folds, and the next, he has slid inside her, filling her completely. As he does, she sighs deeply, leaning back against her pillow, giving Harry free access to her throat, chest, breasts and abdomen, while she runs her fingers up and down his sides, and then along his shoulders to his neck, her thumbs caressing his throat. She loves his skin with her fingers as he moves inside her, steadily, plunging deeper and deeper, pushing her back against her pillow.

When she dares open her eyes, Ruth sees her lover's eyes on her, his pupils dilated, his intense focus on her, and her alone. There had been a time – not so long ago – when Harry's intense scrutiny would have sent her scuttling. She'd always felt like a bug under his microscope, but now …... now, she knows that Harry just wants to love her in his own way.

Of course, Ruth has imagined what this might be like …... making love with Harry. She has imagined his kisses, his touch, his body. She has lain in her own bed, feeling him inside her. When she was with George, making love with George, more often than not, she'd imagine it was Harry who was moving inside her, bringing her to climax. George was good in bed, but he wasn't Harry. She and Harry have such a long history – a long and complicated history – but George was never able to know her …... _really_ know her …... the way Harry does. She'd never allowed George to know her the way Harry does. It is as though Harry has always known her, and now he knows all of her, and this makes her happy.

Ruth is being brought back into the moment by her body's need for release. She lifts her pelvis towards Harry, and then she knows by his face that he can feel her climax building in her.

"You can let go now, Harry," she whispers near his ear. During their lovemaking he has dropped his head so that it is close to her own, his eyes closed, his enjoyment evident. He is doing this for her. Had he been a selfish lover, he would have climaxed some time ago, and then rolled off her and slept. Ruth has been with men like that.

Harry lifts his head to look at her, and as she feels her lower body contracting in ecstasy, her last image before she closes her eyes is Harry's face. His face is too much, too intense, too present, but that is who he is. Harry never does anything by halves. Then, when she has come down, she feels him speed up, and he finishes inside her, gasping like a drowning man, before he pulls her closer to him, and draws her with him as he collapses beside her.

It is some minutes later, when their bodies have calmed, their heartbeats and breathing having steadied, that Harry speaks.

"Ruth …... when we were ….. making love …... you had your eyes closed, and you were thinking about something. What was that?" He bends his head to look at her. She can feel his eyes on her, although she is staring at his shoulder, at the scar left from when Tom Quinn shot him. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just curious."

She takes a moment to answer. "I know I don't have to tell you, but …... I think it's time I did." She looks into his eyes, then, and sees fear, like he's expecting rejection. _I've made him like this,_ she thinks. _My behaviour towards him has made him afraid._ "I was thinking. I was remembering how, before I went away, I'd imagine us making love, and …... When George and I were …... I'd imagine it was you inside me, and not George. That's what I was thinking. It's a bit silly to be thinking that when at last we are together …... but that's what popped into my head."

"You were not happy with George?"

"I was happy in a way, but he was never you. He was a good lover, but …... mechanical. You, on the other hand …..." Ruth looks at Harry to see he has one eyebrow raised in an enquiry. "You're very passionate, and …... I knew you would be. You're rather wonderful." Ruth considers for a moment before she continues. "Did you ….. think of me in that way …... before? Before I went away, and then after?"

"Ruth …... I thought of little else …... in between having to think of work, that is. I've made love to you a thousand times in my mind." He smiles to himself. "I've had you every which way – against the wall, in the kitchen, in the shower..."

"It's a good thing we did it in a bed, then." Ruth smiles at him then, and he smiles back. They are fine. This is them, and they are not perfect, but they've made a start ... a very good start.

"I did wonder for a minute," Harry continues, his voice very quiet, "whether I had acted too soon. When I saw your face while we were making love, I wondered had I …... pushed you into it too soon. It's just that I couldn't wait any longer. I've been working long hours, hoping to suppress ….. but it doesn't work. I still long for you, even when I'm sleeping."

Ruth smiles at that admission, remembering his words as he'd woken in his office the previous night. "How can it be too soon? It's been years. You should have pushed me, convinced me, Harry …... back when I wouldn't go to dinner with you again."

"I planned to, and then …..."

"Everything changed."

"It did." Harry leans towards Ruth to kiss her. His kiss is gentle and careful, and his lips are soft. He pulls out of the kiss before it becomes something more.

They draw away from one another, each lying on their backs side-by-side, their fingers loosely laced. They stay that way for some minutes. Ruth knows that Harry is waiting for her to make the next move. She grasps his hand in hers, and holds it tightly.

"Harry …... I know I've hurt you in the past, and even when I turned up in London with a partner and a step-son, I was aware of how hurt you were ..."

"Ruth …..." He turns on his side to face her.

"No …... let me finish. I need to say this. Harry ….. I never _meant_ to hurt you …... ever …... and I can promise that I will never intentionally hurt you again." Ruth turns on her side to face him. Their faces are only inches apart. "I promise to love you as best I know how, and if you feel me faltering, please don't give up on me. Please love me enough to hold me until I'm again steady on my feet."

Harry looks into her eyes as only he can. "I will love you no matter what, Ruth. I always will."

He leans towards her to wrap his arms around her, and, as she had the night before, Ruth slides her arm around his waist, while her other hand rests against his beating heart. His belly rests against hers, and his genitals, soft and warm, nestle against her thigh.

At last. Ruth is naked. In bed. With a naked Harry.

Laura and Alec never had anything like this in `Brief Encounter', and for that, Ruth feels a moment of sadness.

With nowhere to run to, this is the raw truth of who they are, and it is good.

_Fin_


End file.
